"No. She says that was just kid stuff. She has an idea now she'll breed thoroughbred horses." Douglas turned over on his back and gazed up into the heavens, where an eagle hung, motionless. "Lord! Breeding horses is no work for Jude!" cried Peter. Douglas did not reply. Peter eyed the young man's clean, hawk-like profile and went on. "What does she say about you and Fowler?" "She laughs at me." "Do you think you can get her in touch with Fowler?" Douglas sat up with a jerk. "Get her in touch with him? Say, what do you think I'm bringing that sky pilot in here for? You can bet she'll get in touch with him! I'll show that girl I haven't played all my cards yet!" Peter stared long and unblinkingly at Douglas. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered and filled his pipe again. The summer passed for Douglas with extraordinary rapidity. Profiting by the experience of the previous winter, every rancher put in as heavy a grain crop as he could handle and there was little leisure in the Valley during July and August. Lost Chief was, of course, immensely interested in Doug's building operations. He was accused of planning to be married and conjecture ran rife. When he began work in the interior of the log chapel, he hung burlap bags over the windows and locked the doors. But his precautions were futile. By the middle of June, every ranch in the valley was talking about Douglas Spencer's motion-picture hall and wondered why he was building it so far from the center of the community. The truth came out in an entirely unexpected manner. About a week before he expected the preacher, Douglas rode down in the evening for his mail. Peter had gone to Mountain City on a rare visit and Young Jeff was acting as postmaster again. Scott Parsons was helping him sort the mail and it was Scott who fell upon a battered suitcase, tied with frayed rope. "What's this mess?" he exclaimed. "Let's see this tag." He shoved the suitcase close to the lamp. "'The Rev. Mr. James Fowler. Care of Douglas Spencer.'" Scott looked up with an oath. "What do you know about this!" he gasped. Douglas, standing with his back to the cold stove, said nothing. Young Jeff dropped the handful of letters he was distributing, and examined the tag for himself. "Old Fowler, eh? Thought he was dead long ago. What's he coming to see you for, Doug? Going to preach--" He paused and his eyes grew round. "Doug's motion-picture theater! The sky pilot! That cabin is a church!" Scott gave a gasp, followed by a shout of laughter. "How about it, Doug?" Douglas grinned. "What are you doing, Douglas? Starting a ranch for broken-down sky pilots?" asked Young Jeff. Still Douglas made no reply. He strode over to the table and put his hand on the suitcase. "Hold on!" protested Scott. "Answer a few questions. What are you trying to put over on us, Douglas?" "You'll know, pretty soon," answered Doug.